


Cadet Murphy

by Kabi



Series: November [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bride Capture, CarrierVerse, Cultural Differences, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Gender Issues, M/M, Mpreg, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabi/pseuds/Kabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short addition to November, for those who wondered what else went on in Miljan's house. In this installation, the story and identity of Cadet Calvin Murphy - the mysterious and unwilling Carrier guest at Anton Yavisk's dinner party - are revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Cadet Calvin Murphy rolled over onto his back and used one arm to push himself half-sitting, with his legs stretched out between the cool white sheets. To his left, moonlight filtered in through the curtained window of the bedroom and glinted off of the handcuff which currently - not permanently, he hoped - held him to the bed. The Russian would be back soon.

The Russian wasn't actually Russian, as it turned out - Cal had tried hard enough to understand phone conversation after phone conversation to know that much. Still, his first impression of the man had stuck in his mind, and now it was too difficult to change his impression of this strange, intimidating man.

And intimidating seemed to be exactly the word for the man...he was tall, towering more than half a foot over Cal's 5'7", and built like the kind of bodyguards Cal had seen before in movies - all sinewy muscle and unspoken threat. It was vastly different than Cal's look: short, un-sinewy somewhat-muscle, and very little threat unless you were terrified of young men who had done little to challenge themselves throughout the early stages of their life.

Cal exhaled and ran his free hand over his face. His mind was running in circles again, chasing its own tail to keep from going numb with boredom, or fear. And there was a lot to be afraid about. He had gone to sleep on the train, coming back to base after a visit home to see his uncle, and had woken up, hands tied, in the back of a van headed north into the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. That had been terrifying enough itself; arriving at his destination had been worse.

The Russian had been on the train with him, he'd later realized. Must have seen him when he dozed off. In the van, there had been him and three others. Cal had learned only two of their names: Drag, and Miljan, who had appeared to be in charge. When they had opened the van to take him inside, he had screamed and fought them as hard as he could, trying to wrench his bonds loose. Nothing worked. Miljan even laughed. Then he had been handcuffed inside an empty room and left there. A half an hour later, the Russian had come inside and explained to Cal just what was going on.

He'd started by asking about the pain - the discomfort, really, it had been at that point. Then he'd asked some seemingly random questions - about Cal's life, where he had been lately, what his life had been like. Cal had refused to answer, thinking that keeping personal details from them might give him some leverage. The Russian had simply shrugged at each question he refused to answer and moved on.

By the end of all the questioning, Cal was frustrated and so mad he wanted to break the handcuffs and kill the man with them. The Russian had seemed unperturbed by his anger; almost amused. At the end of all of it, he had walked over to Cal, reached one meaty hand down and stroked his head.

"You are a carrier, Cadet Murphy."  
Cal had tasted bile in his throat. Denial had been automatic.  
"No, I'm not."  
The Russian shrugged again, as if it were really no business of his and withdrew his hand.  
"You are. And I have claimed you."  
Cal's eyes widened and he recoiled, half in shock and half in disgust.  
"Claim - you can't claim someone who isn't changed!"  
"You will change, soon. It has already begun."  
Cal shook his head, seeing his opening.  
"It hasn't. It won't. What if it doesn't?"  
the Russian furrowed his brow.  
"It will. I know you will change. The doctor will see you in an hour. He will tell us how soon it will complete."  
"And what if you're wrong?" Cal asked desperately, feeling like he had slipped down a rabbit-hole. Things were changing at light-speed and his mind could barely keep up.

What if the Russian was right? What if he was a carrier?  
...What if he wasn't?

Cal preferred to focus, for the time being, on the latter possibility. If he wasn't a carrier...well, they would probably kill him, unfortunately - that was the only caveat to that blessed escape. He had seen too much. But they were so confident, almost arrogant...maybe he could fake the pain and then escape? Return to base?

The Russian's hand returning to his head made him look up again. This time, the fingers trailed across his short-cut hair and down his jawline to hold up his chin. The Russian looked him closely in the eyes.

"Ah, yes." he said, his expression relaxing. "It is in your eyes. The answer is always in the eyes."

~:~

Now it was two days later and his balls were two-thirds smaller in appearance, and so tender to the touch that the Russian had doubled the dosage of his pain medication. Without the injections, it was painful to even move. He would have to wait at least until the change had completed before he could escape.

Cal scoffed at himself and fell back to a laid-down position. Escape. Right. His training told him to at least try it; his captain would have expected no less. But escape where? To who? The danger was inside of him. It could not be run from.

Outside of the door, the sound of boots pacing on a wood floor echoed, and Cal briefly thought about calling to the guard to ask for a glass of water. It would be a nice change of pace just to see someone and get out of this bed, maybe have a conversation. The guards never spoke to him anyway, though, not even when shuffling him for his thrice-daily bathroom breaks, so it wasn't as if the request would exactly sate his need for human interaction.

He'd tried to talk to one of the guards one time, succeeding only because he had asked him questions relentlessly, through the door, for a half an hour until the man finally caved and answered him with one short response.

"Bos." he had said, in a lighter version of the others' peculiar accent, "You belong to Bos. You have questions, you ask Bos."

It had taken Cal an entire day to figure out that Bos was the man's name and not his title. Although perhaps it could double. People seemed to listen to him attentively - at least the underlings did. Drag did. The others he had met, Miljan and Yavisk, seemed to outrank him. Cal repeated their names in his head, memorizing the information that he would give when he finally escaped from here.

There it was again. That stupid false hope. But he owed it to himself, didn't he? He was a soldier, after all. No longer helpless; no longer a boy. He had, at least, to try.

Ah, but concession seemed so easy. And it seemed easier with each passing hour of silence, of wind blowing and sun rising and setting outside his only window. The room was lush - could life be this nice? Cal's family had barely kept it together through the wartimes, and he knew they were in the majority. The house (or as much of it as he'd seen when he was being moved from room to room) looked wealthy. The bed he was in was a huge, welded steel frame with a mattress softer than anything Cal had ever slept on before. There were long curtains, tapestries on every wall, and gleaming white tile in the bathroom, as well as a tub that could fit two or three. It was a far cry different from one uncle and three boys with barely enough food.

Bos was also not an unkind keeper, but Cal knew from his interrogation classes that this was not an uncommon method to use. First, the victim would begin to feel safe. Then he would lower his guard - just a little, just for a night, just to get a little rest. Then the interrogator would pounce, and the noose around the victim's neck would tighten.

Cal shuddered at the image - the neck was the incorrect body part to name, because when he'd woken this morning, he'd felt like the noose was around his balls instead.

But that didn't mean anything, right? Could just be a fluke? Obviously not. Cal wasn't stupid, after all, had never been accused of being such. He knew the signs.

There was a plate of cheese, fruit, and crackers with a carafe water on the other side of the bed, within easy reach of his handcuff range. He was meant to be eating it, he knew, but the nausea had come and gone all day and after throwing up in his bed the day before, Cal wasn't hungry enough to take the risk of doing it again.

When he'd been sick all over their bed and himself, it had been just as the Russian was returning home. The man had looked unperturbed at his illness; he had simply changed the sheets and brought Cal fresh food without so much as a grimace. Perhaps the man had medical training? Cal's thoughts darkened. Or perhaps he had done this a number of times before. Or perhaps vomit was the least of the fluids he'd ever extracted from the human body.

The gruesomeness of the thought reminded Cal once again that he did not, in fact, know this man.  
Bos Yagovich could be anybody.

Calvin felt sick all over again. Then movement in the hallway caught his attention and slowly, the door opened.

~:~

When the Russian was home (home? when had he begun thinking of it in those terms? the brainwashing was already working...), Calvin was allowed out of the handcuffs to wander the room. Attempting to go outside of the room, however, was swiftly punished. Attempting to open the window was swiftly punished. Attempting to cut himself open with an unwisely placed bread knife from the dinner tray in an effort to force them to take him to a hospital was swiftly punished. Subsequently, Cal had found himself handcuffed to the bed in various levels of discomfort, dependent on his behavior. In some way, he was impressed. He'd had no idea that a simple twist of the arms or shoulders or hips could make a set of handcuffs so incredibly uncomfortable. The Russian, however, seemed to be an expert.

Currently, however, Calvin was unhandcuffed and sitting splay-legged under the sheets, across the bed from the Russian. The Bos (that was the other name Cal had given him) was eating hungrily from a tray placed in front of him, glancing up occasionally to check on Calvin Murphy.

"You didn't eat much today. Are you ill?"  
Calvin shrugged - he'd spend the first few days being utterly uncooperative, but ultimately, it was more costly than rewarding.  
"Some. I wasn't hungry."  
That was half true.  
Bos eyed him, then nodded, accepting.  
"You need to eat. Your body is exerting itself right now."  
Calvin scoffed, suddenly feeling self-deprecating.  
"Maybe my body could do with a little exertion." he muttered, crossing his arms uncomfortably over his stomach, which poked out slightly beneath the small t-shirt he'd been given.

Cal never wore shirts this size, for this exact reason. It wasn't his fault, though, he reasoned. It was genetic. Had to be - even basic training hadn't been able to shake the baby fat completely from him. It seemed he was doomed to look irrevocably well-fed. Red-headed, he further scolded himself, and well-fed to boot. Even in the dire state of things back at the base, nobody would be asking him into any broom closets anytime soon. When he looked back up, the Russian was staring at him. Cal quickly looked away.

"Stop it." he growled in his most menacing voice. The Bos had finished eating now, and was taking long pulls from a dark-colored bottle of beer.  
"I stop when I am ready to stop. I like to look at you."  
Calvin made a skeptical face and looked away. The Russian sat back in his chair and pushed the tray away, keeping the bottle in his hand. From his throne, he regarded Calvin.  
"Does it surprise you?"  
Cal frowned.  
"Does what surprise me?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. This was simply not a conversation he wished to have.  
The Bos, however, would not be so easily dissuaded.  
"Does it surprise you that I like to look at you?"

Calvin shrugged and dangled one leg over the edge of the bed, turning to look at the stack of books placed on the bedside table.  
"I don't care what you like or don't. But don't look at me."  
"I will, because I find you attractive. I like to look at you. You will make a fine wife."  
"I'm not a carrier." Cal repeated for the thousandth time, his cheeks burning with red.  
"Mmm." the Russian said, raking his eyes over Cal's body and outstretched leg with open lasciviousness.

The staring was the worst part, Cal immediately decided. Back on base, nobody stared at him. No one had ever said something like that about him. It was...weird. He felt cold suddenly. He rubbed his arms.  
"Can I have a sweater or something?"  
The Russian took a long pull of his beer and nodded.  
"Or something. Come. You cannot sleep in that any longer."  
Cal glanced down at himself.  
"I get clothes?"  
He had been stripped of his uniform two days ago, left in only his boxers and a tshirt, spares of which had been retrieved from his suitcase. Awful nice of them to kidnap that as well, he thought.

Bos grinned and got to his feet, resting the quarter-full beer carefully by the leg of his chair. He stretched first, rolling his powerful shoulders and neck, stretching every muscle in them to what looked like the breaking point. It made Calvin think of a video he'd seen one time in biology class, on the mating behaviors of animals. The film had said it was all about displays - the male bird performing for the female, dancing a complex little dance, spinning circles around her, all with his feathers preened and chest puffed out. As Calvin watched the Russian systematically flex and relax his muscles - prodigious though they might be - he was ultimately reminded of the little blue and black bird.

Bos finished his demonstration and began focusing on his next task, looking down at himself to unbutton his shirt.  
"Undress." he ordered, without looking up. Cal felt a familiar locker room nervousness rise up within him.  
"Why?" he asked defensively.  
Bos was working on his middle button now, halfway down to his belly. When he looked up, he seemed mildly surprised at Cal's recalcitrance. Cal had to stop himself from thinking that with that expression, more gentle than the one he usually wore, the Russian didn't look quite so bad. Handsome, almost, even with the nose that had been broken several times and the smile that was not exactly straight. The Bos tilted his head.  
"I am giving new clothes to you."  
"Oh." Cal almost complied, but then thought twice. "So why are _you_ undressing?"

Bos finished with the buttons and shrugged out of his shirt.  
"Here." he threw the shirt towards Calvin, who caught it reflexively then dropped it in disgust. The Russian raised an eyebrow. "Is clean. Mostly. Put it on."  
Cal eyed him dubiously.  
" _Why_?"

Bos stepped forward, and was somewhat pleased to see that the action made the cadet clench the shirt tighter to his chest, as if guarding his new possession. They had progressed, then, from outright rejection to hostile compliance to the beginnings of negotiation.  
"It will be better for you to wear this. Those clothes do not cover so much of your body, and my men will look."  
Bos indicated Cal's small shirt and ratty boxers. Embarrassed, the cadet tried to tug the edge of the shirt down a little farther.  
"This is fine. I'm fine."  
Bos shook his head.  
"No. Shirt is better."

Interesting, Cal thought in his head. An argument. Had they progressed, then? Just this sort of truculence would have been swiftly punished days ago. Perhaps the Russian was weakening to him, too. Cal looked down at the shirt. The Russian finished the end of his beer, swallowed the mouthful, and looked down at Cal.  
"And the doctor, Demen, says it will help your development come faster."  
Cal looked quizzically at him. the Russian shrugged. "Because of the hormones."  
"Pheremones." Cal corrected, mostly to himself, as he put the shirt on.

Bos came to bed shortly thereafter, keeping their evening routine. He showered first, returning to the room clad only in a loose pair of drawstring pants. They looked like scrubs, Cal noted, filing that fact away for later reference. In bed, he curled up on the side closest the door, as far from the Russian as he could manage without falling off the bed. Before turning out the light, the Russian read to him, aloud, from one of the books stacked on the nightstand. Together, they were halfway through a book of Spanish love poems. Neruda, the poet was; Calvin didn't know him well, but had heard the name before. The Russian, however, had identified him as a particular favorite.

After half an hour, Cal could barely keep his eyes open. Surprising, with all the sleeping he did to pass the time all day, that he could sleep at all, but he was nodding off already. The Russian's voice seemed to fade away and Cal felt his limbs begin to grow heavy with sleep.

Cal was halfway between slumber and wakefulness when the touch of the Russian's heavy hand on the back of his neck woke him fully. The hand rested there, calmly massaging small but powerful circles at the nape. Cal didn't move and did his best not to tense his muscles; give no indication that you are awake, he commanded his body.

"Cadet Murphy." Cal wondered if the Russian was going to call him by his full name forever. He kept quiet. The hand on his neck tightened just a little, growing more insistent. Cal opened his eyes. Then the hand moved to push the hem of Cal's borrowed shirt up to his waist, exposing the pale skin of his hips and thighs. The Russian left his hand there, weighty, stroking the side of Cal's bare hip, but waiting patiently. Cal couldn't help but speak up.  
"Bos." he was embarrassed to hear his voice hitch, and realized he was afraid. "Please." he ground out.  
The Russian's voice rumbled close to his ear.  
"Please what?"  
Calvin felt stupid, he felt ridiculous and silly, but he needed to say it.  
"Please. Stop?"

That hadn't come out as forceful as Cal would have liked. But it seemed to have the desired effect - the hand on his hip stayed another moment, then retreated, and Cal breathed a sigh of relief. He moved his own hand to the edge of the shirt, wanting to cover himself, but the Russian stopped him with a severe slap to his fingers. Cal pulled back, and looked over his shoulder at him. The Russian's expression was calm, but his voice was warning.  
"I want you like this tonight."  
Cal's face must have betrayed his thoughts, because the Russian leaned closer and his voice dropped lower.  
"I am always free to look at you. I am allowed access to every part of your body. I am your husband."

Cal just let those words sink in for a moment. Yep. He definitely needed to escape.


	2. II

Cal sat in the jeep, his heart pounding, his legs shaking, and his wrists handcuffed to the passenger side door. He had no idea where he was - even without a blindfold, the unfathomable blackness kept him from memorizing the way.

Bos had been silent for the entirety of the ride, and so Cal had had a lot of time to think. And to consider the events of the evening.

The scene at dinner had scared him. Partly because a carrier had been beaten and a man had been shot at their table, but also partly because when Cal had watched the man bleed out over the Persian rug, the blood that had come from him had been real. The bullet wound had been real. The carrier, shaking, being secreted away by the doctor had been real. The damage control rush in which he had been dragged out of the house and into a car with the Russian had been real. Everything had been terrifyingly, stupefyingly, heartbreakingly, head-achingly real. This was really happening.

That had changed Cal's mind, or at least his perspective.   
He wasn't stupid; no one had ever accused him of that. If anything, the opposite. Cal had always been too smart, too clever, too full of right answers for everyone.

In school, it had always been Cal Sit Down. Let Someone Else Have A Try, Cal. You Just Know All The Answers, Don't You, Cal. You're Ruining It For Everyone, Cal.

At the farm, it had always been Cal Just Dig The Hole. Cows Don't Care About Chemistry, Cal. Pay Attention To Your Work, Cal. Pop's Gonna Be Mad, Cal. Books Don't Make Bread, Cal.

Smart. Cal was smart. Cal could be smart.

~

Two days after the dinner party, Bos had left the cabin and arrived later with a new doctor in tow. When introduced to the man, Cal had behaved smartly. He hadn't questioned overtly, hadn't complained, hadn't thrown a fit at the sight of more needles, hadn't resisted the examination. He had just quietly followed directions and waited. This was a smart thing to do; the shooting had only been two days ago, and emotions were still high amongst the group. In their own house (a safehouse of some sort, Cal had figured out, hidden in the woods) there was a thick, mounting tension between he and Bos. This was because Cal's change was progressing well; he had a cavity now, and the end would soon be in sight. Cal wanted it and didn't.

The end of the change meant the end of staying locked in one room in the main house or shut up in the cabin all day, every day. It meant the end of constant injections, endless examinations, ruined sheets and clothing, and occasional episodes of gut-wrenching pain.

It meant the end of what could arguably be called the worst part. Or the best, Cal supposed, depending on what you had waiting for you after.

Cal knew what he had waiting. He'd tried to pretend like he didn't, but he knew.   
He wasn't stupid, after all. Cal was smart.

Bos wasn't stupid either - he hadn't let a moment pass to reinforce who he was, what he wanted, what his position was and would be in Cal's life.

The safehouse had only one window, and Cal had to ask permission to go near it.   
The bath required water that only Bos was allowed to go outside to shut on.  
Cal was expected to sleep in Bos' shirt only, and to be open to touch.   
There was a washing annex at the back, with old-fashioned washing boards and tubs set into the floor. Cal was expected to do the washing.  
Bos made breakfast and dinner. Cal was expected to make lunch.   
Cal was also expected to eat three times a day and drink at least 5 glasses of water. Bos supervised this closely.  
The second, tiny bedroom was being used as temporary storage - the clothes Bos had retrieved from the house were there, as well as a few books and a stack of video chips. The room was locked, and Cal had to ask for admission.  
Today, Bos had raised the price from please, thank you to please, thank you, and a kiss.

The end of the change would be the beginning of a real, honest, technicolor, grown-up, consummated marriage. With Bos. Cal's stomach dipped a little bit, and that urge which was a mix of wanting to run and wanting to vomit hit him again.

But Cal was strong, Cal was smart, and Cal could handle it.

~

Seven days after the shooting, the doctor had come again.

He had spoken briefly to Cal, then set about his work, under Bos' watchful eye. Then he had snapped off his gloves, zipped them into a plastic bag, and sent Bos out of the room.

Then the doctor had calmly looked Calvin right in the eyes and asked him, meaningfully,  
"Are you prepared to be reasonable about this, or do you need more time?"  
Cal stared at him.

The doctor was looking out for him, in his curious way, but it was a ruse that wouldn't last for long. Cal was under no delusions. No one knew he was here. They probably assumed he was dead. No cavalry was coming. Even if they found Miljan's house, they still wouldn't know where the safehouse was. Bos had won this round. The only way out was through.

So Cal, rather smartly, had looked up into the doctor's eyes and answered:  
"I can be reasonable."

The doctor had nodded gravely and taken a deep breath, as if preparing to make an offer in a negotiation.  
"Bos is a good man."  
Cal didn't answer this.  
"Bos is also a kind man."  
Cal waited.  
"But Bos is an efficient man, and he cares about results more than he cares about methods. Remember this."  
Cal nodded. That was useful information, but it did little to assuage his worry that the man he'd been sharing a bed with was secretly a cold-blooded killer like Miljan had turned out to be.

The new doctor continued.  
"Bos wants a wife. Not a concubine, not a butler, and not an aesthetic attaché. A wife. He is a man who celebrates the old ways of life. Do you understand?"  
Cal nodded slowly. Of course he understood. He was smart.


	3. III

Escape was the last thing on Calvin Murphy's mind when he woke up on the first morning after the end of his change. Breakfast, however, was paramount.

Cal edged his way out from under the blanket and the Russian's heavy arm, then slid his lower body over the side of the massive four-poster bed. His legs dangled above the floor like a child's, making him feel a bit lilliputian. The bed was ridiculously large - had it been custom built? Cal shrugged the question off and quickly glanced over his shoulder at his captor. The Bos was still asleep. Cal saw his opening and, making the most of it, slipped down to the floor and out of the room.

Bos had moved them back to the main house the day before; Cal guessed that the completion of his change had meant he no longer needed to be kept secret.

Cal padded down the hall, following his nose to the kitchen. Along the way, he took in the rich, dark woods, tapestries, and rich colorings of the large home's interior. It was a far cry different from leftover concrete blocks and splintery wood walls that you couldn't even drag your hand across. Cal contemplated. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad place to live - there was hot water all the time here, and so far he had not seen a single rat.

He found the kitchen with only a few missteps. Thankfully, none of the doors he opened led to rooms that were occupied; Cal seemed to be blessedly alone this morning. As he stood in front of the fridge (twenty times larger than the icebox they had at home), he contemplated this. Where was the rest of the house? Judging by the attendance at dinner, at least 8 other people lived in the house. Seven, he corrected, remembering the dead brother at the dinner table.  
Where were they?

As if on cue, Cal heard a panicked, squealing sound and then the pounding of running footsteps. He paused, heart racing. Was someone looking for him? Was someone hurt? In trouble? Shot (again)? The footsteps got closer, and Cal mentally ran through his options. He could bolt, back up the stairs to the bedroom, jump under the covers, hide, and beg Bos for forgiveness for sneaking away. But that would require humility and non-hungriness, neither of which were traits he currently possessed. Cal thought about it some more.

He could also stand his ground, show no fear to whatever came barreling around the corner, and defiantly face the threat. But that would require more courage than Cal thought he could muster, considering that his reserves had been deeply tapped by the events of the past two weeks. Cal thought again. He could hide. That sounded fair - hide, then reappear when whatever stampeding beast this was had passed by. Cal shut the metal fridge door and looked around him.

Unfortunately, he had spent too much time contemplating and too little time acting; before Cal could do anything at all, the beast appeared.

A lanky little brown-skinned, befreckled carrier wearing a too-big buttoned shirt (and apparently nothing else) came skidding around the corner, into the middle of the kitchen. He slid into the chopping island and stopped, panting to catch his breath and grinning ear to ear.  
Cal stared at him.  
The carrier cocked his head, gave a curious smile, and stared back.  
"Hello!"

Cal was a little taken aback. This was hardly the situation he had thought it was. He needed a minute to reassess.

"Hello." he answered, cautiously. The carrier looked Cal over, taking in his hair, his poorly-dressed state. Then he grinned, obviously delighted.  
"You're a carrier!" he stood on his tiptoes and leaned across the island, squinting at Cal. "I think I know you."  
Cal nodded, shortly, then glanced awkwardly to the side.  
"Uh, yeah. I was there the night your husband shot his brother."  
The carrier slapped the island, startling Cal.  
"Of course! I knew it! You're Bos's new friend!"

Cal was really starting to resent the possessive term that seemed to precede any statement of who he was. The carrier leaned onto his elbow.  
"So you guys came back, then? Are you all done changing now? Are you going to be staying here? I live here! And so does Ami - we're the only carriers right now. It's kind of boring. But now there's you! So we can do all kinds of - "

Mid-sentence, the carrier looked up and broke into a scream, and Cal jerked his head up to the doorway, where the large, shadowy form of Miljan had appeared.  
"No...no....no..." the carrier was whispering, trying to back away.

In the doorway, Miljan laughed as the carrier struggled to get his feet underneath of him, attempting to bolt through the door on the opposite side of the room. Cal panicked - should he stop this? Should he step in? Was he going to be in trouble if he did - if he was Bos's, then surely this carrier belonged to Miljan? Cal glanced back and forth between the man in the door and the pretty young carrier trying as hard as he could to get away from him.

Suddenly, Miljan charged, roaring a vicious cry, and Cal leapt back to get out of the way. Nope, Cal thought, won't be a hero today.

The carrier screamed as Miljan caught him across the room, and Cal glanced towards his own room, wondering if he would be a witness to two murders in this house.

"Caught!" Miljan shouted, and the carrier shrieked, but then collapsed into something more plaintive, something more...like laughter? Cal stepped exactly one step forward to look a little closer. The two men appeared to be tucked tightly into a ball on the floor; the carrier was writhing, and Miljan was matching him movement for movement, his hands flush up against the carrier's sides and... tickling him?

"MERCYI'MSORRYYOUWIN!" the carrier cried, and Miljan grunted, released him, and then quickly snatched him up and threw him into a fireman's hold over his right shoulder. Cal put one hand to his chest, slightly perturbed. The carrier, however, did not seem at all disturbed. In fact, he was still laughing.

Miljan turned, with his bundle slung over his shoulder, slapped the carrier's bare ass (which made him jump, but laugh more) and began to happily march out of the room, singing some kind of song that Cal could only assume translated roughly to a victory march.

As they passed the refrigerator, the carrier on his shoulder wriggled and reached one grasping hand out towards the metal contraption.  
"Wait! Mil! Hungry! Breeaaakfast!"  
Miljan kept marching, unconcerned.  
"Breakfast later! Sex now."  
Behind his transporter's back, the carrier sighed a long-suffering sigh, then grinned and winked at Cal.  
"OK, _fine_. If you insist."  
They traipsed, still singing and still giggling, out of the kitchen and Cal listened to them pounding up the stairs.

When he turned away to go back to the fridge, Bos was standing in the room.   
Cal stepped back instinctively.  
"I'msorry." he blurted.  
Bos looked him over.  
"Were you hungry?"  
Cal nodded; his heart was pounding too hard for him to talk.  
"And you did not wake me. Did you think I would not feed you?"  
Great. Now the Russian was offended. Cal swallowed and shook his head.  
"No."  
"Come here."

He hesitated just one second too long, and Bos crossed the room in seconds, snatching him up by the arm. Cal wondered how such a big man moved so quickly. The grip on his arm was tight, and Cal thought about trying to wrench free, but decided that would really be counterproductive. And would probably only exacerbate the lesson he by now understood Bos wanted to teach him.

" _Please_ , let go." he tried instead. The grip loosened, then released. Bos crossed his arms over his chest.  
"Sit." he said, indicating one of the three small tables lined against the wall of windows in the kitchen.   
Rubbing his arm, Cal went.

Bos turned and began rifling through the refrigerator, withdrawing things occasionally and setting them on the counter beside him.  
"If you are hungry, ask to eat."  
Cal squeezed his hands together to stop them from trembling.  
"OK."  
Bos looked over one shoulder at him.  
"Where did you get those pants?"  
Cal glanced down.  
"I, um - I found them on a chair in your room."  
" _Our_ room."  
"Our room." Cal wondered if he was in trouble for this, too. "I just - you told me to cover myself and I thought - "  
"Oh!" Bos's sudden cry startled Cal, and he jumped. The Russian turned, a wry grin on his face, and leaned against the counter to look at Cal. "So you do listen."

Cal's face reddened.  
"Sometimes." he muttered, because saying it louder would have seemed too disrespectful. To his surprise, Bos laughed.  
"Sometimes." he turned back to the stack of ingredients he'd collected. "Well. In that case, you may _sometimes_ be rewarded."


	4. IV

Cal sat quietly in the smaller of two armchairs in Miljan's downstairs study and waited patiently for Bos's scolding to be over.

"The family probably won't even believe you now!"  
There was a peculiar exhalation of disbelief, and Bos opened his mouth to protest.  
"No, they will - "  
"No! No." Miljan was shaking his head, annoyed. "You should have called when you first got him! Always, you should call when you first get them!"

Bos shrugged, irritated at being chastised, and folded the piece of paper over in his hands.  
"I forgot. I was busy."  
Miljan scoffed again.  
"Well. It's a good thing the general knew. He has probably already informed them."  
Bos rolled his eyes and Miljan handed him the phone. From across the room, Cal stared nervously at them both.

They were calling his family.  
That made it real.

Bos looked up at Cal, then at Miljan.  
"It's ringing."  
Cal's heart skipped a beat. Bos turned his back.  
The line clicked on.  
"Murphy house."

Bos straightened his shoulders and stepped closer to the desk.  
"Mr. Murphy? My name is Bos Yagovich, and I am the man who has your son."  
"Son?"  
Bos cast a confused look at Miljan.  
"Calvin."  
There was a long pause on the phone.  
"You're him. You have my nephew Cal."  
Bos nodded.  
"Da. We took him twelve days ago from a train bound south to Fort Nelson."  
There was more pause.  
"Is he alive?"  
Bos grinned.  
"Oh, yes, Mr. Murphy. Cal is very much alive. And he is safe."

In the long silence, Red Murphy took a deep swallow and tried to think of what to say.  
"Listen, I don't have money." he swallowed. "I - I don't have much at all, but I can get you something, anything you want, if you will just - "  
Bos almost chuckled, but stopped himself at the last minute.  
"Mr. Murphy," he interrupted gently, "Perhaps you misunderstand. I have already everything that I want. Your nephew Calvin is a carrier."

Across the room, Cal cringed.  
On the telephone, there was an audible intake of breath.

Miljan eyed Bos critically.  
"Don't shock them, just tell them what you want."  
Bos threw Miljan a quick glare, then turned his attention back to the phone.  
"Calvin is a carrier, and he is currently in my possession. A doctor has been to see him, and he is healthy and safe. My intention, as you may have already guessed, is to keep him as my wife, and Calvin and I both hope for your blessing."

Red Murphy felt too stunned to speak. Bos continued.  
"I also hope that you will accept a few gifts in exchange for your trouble." Bos flipped the scrap of paper over and scanned down the back. "A new tractor; 10 heifers; 60 acres and 10,000 Union dollars to do with as you wish."

There was absolute silence on the other end. Bos looked uncertainly at Miljan. Miljan shrugged.  
After a long time, Red Murphy spoke.

"Sir, I don't want your tractor. I don't want your cows. I don't want your land, and I don't want your money. I just want my nephew."  
Bos scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up to Miljan, who responded by raising three fingers.  
"I apologize, Mr. Murphy. 30,000 Union dollars might be a more accurate indication of how much Calvin means to me."  
Miljan's eyes widened, and he hastily wrote something on a piece of paper and held it up to Bos, pointing to it emphatically. Bos ignored him.

Red Murphy's voice grew tense.  
"I don't care. I want him back."  
Bos exhaled in annoyance.  
"Mr. Murphy. Please. This is not a negotiation. Calvin is mine. He belongs to me now. He cannot go back."  
Cal's stomach sank at the simplicity of that statement. _He cannot go back._ His fingernails squeezed marks into the armchair's leather.

"Do not mistake me. I feel great affection for your nephew, Mr. Murphy. And as a carrier, he is very valuable to me. Because of this, Calvin has not been hurt. However..." Bos let that word hang long enough for the threat to come out of it.

Cal's heart pounded out of his chest.  
Red Murphy was silent on the line.

Bos continued.  
"If you continue to pursue him, we will both lose him. A carrier whose family brings trouble to my own is a dangerous problem. And the only course of action for a dangerous problem is elimination."

Red Murphy's breath caught in his throat.  
Cal's did the same.  
Miljan made an impatient motion with his hand. Bos ignored it. Cal tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. His head swam. Was Bos threatening to kill him?

Miljan rolled his eyes and hissed at him.  
"You're giving them too much time. Tell him what you want and finish the call."  
Bos, momentarily distracted, glared at Miljan and covered the receiver with one hand.  
"Would you like to speak to him yourself?"  
Miljan waved the snide suggestion off and focused on something else. Bos glared at him a moment more, then returned to the call.  
"Are we clear, Mr. Murphy?"   
When Red Murphy answered, his voice was weak.  
"We are."  
"Now, Mr. Murphy, I expect that you are concerned about Cal. As I said, he is well and safe and you may visit him as soon as he is pregnant with his first child. Until then, he will remain in seclusion with me. If you would like to ensure that his seclusion does not become permanent, then you will keep quiet and keep away from the General. Is that understood?"

Red Murphy was silent for a very long time. Abruptly, he said,  
"I want to talk to Cal."  
Bos shook his head.  
"Is that understood, Mr. Murphy?"  
Red Murphy had never wanted to kill a man so badly in his life.  
"It is."  
Bos threw a victorious glance at Miljan.  
"Very good. Here is Cal."

Bos turned and held the receiver out to Cal, who blinked at it for a second. Annoyed, Bos shook it and Cal got out of the chair and came forward. He reached for the phone, but Bos pulled it back.  
"What do you say?"  
Cal, head swimming, tried to pull himself together enough to remember.  
"Hv - hvala." he answered. Bos nodded.  
"Good." he handed over the phone.

Cal cradled it against his chin and turned his back to the other men.  
"Uncle?"  
"Calvin! Sweet Lord!" there was a minute of muffled movement, and Cal imagined his uncle pacing the front room, running his hand over his balding head. "We thought - we thought you were dead, boy."  
Cal lifted one corner of his mouth.  
"Nope."  
"And then the man - the general called and he said you were alive, but they didn't have a location, and then these guys call and they say they've got you and you're all changed and - " Red Murphy trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. "Is it true?"

Cal's hand trembled as he held the phone, very conscious of Bos and Miljan watching him.  
"Yeah. It's true, Uncle."  
"Lord." Red Murphy was quiet another long moment. "Well, are you OK? Has anyone hurt you? Has anyone touched you?"  
Heat rushed into Cal's face.  
"Yes. And no. But, um, yeah."  
Red Murphy went quiet.  
"Was it him?"  
Cal nodded, then remembered that his uncle couldn't see him.  
"Yeah."  
More silence.  
"You know this is irreversible, don't you, Cal?"  
"Yeah, uncle. I know."  
A pause.  
"I don't want you to get hurt, Cal."  
Cal shook his head; his throat suddenly felt tight.   
"I don't want to get hurt either."

There was another silence, then Red spoke suddenly, as if finally making a decision.  
"Listen, I want you to do what they say, OK?"  
Cal paused. Tears tickled the back of his eyes and burned the bridge of his nose  
"OK."  
"Even the hard stuff, OK? There's... there's gonna be stuff I know you're not gonna like, but it's gonna be like I raised you, right? You're going to be brave. And you're going to survive."  
Cal shivered.  
"OK."

Red Murphy took a deep breath in.  
"God has chosen you for a very special journey, Cal. And I'm sorry I can't be there with you." Cal felt the urge to cry grow stronger. Everything seemed so clear. Red Murphy paused, then continued. "But He'll be with you, alright? Every step of the way."  
Cal sniffed, discreetly.  
"OK."

"God will keep you safe." Red forced a smile into his voice. "God and your good wits."  
Because Cal _really_ wanted to cry now, he shut his mouth closed tightly and gritted his teeth.  
"Mm-hmm."  
"So don't let them hurt you. Just hang on until I can figure out what to do. I'm going to try everything within my power to get to you, Cal. Don't ever think that I won't - "  
"It's fine." Cal's voice surprised him with its strength. "It's - I mean, I know. I get it, uncle. And you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."  
"Cal, you don't have to - "  
"No. No, uncle, I'm serious. I'm not a little kid. And I'm not stupid. I know, I mean, I just - " Cal glanced nervously over his shoulder, but Bos and Miljan were engaged in a low conversation about something. Cal took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not a child. I understand the situation I'm in. I know I can't just walk away from here. And I don't want to die."

A thick silence followed. Neither of them were sure what to say, and Cal had startled them both with his bleak statement. Cal closed his eyes.  
"Besides, uncle, the money could help. A lot."  
Red Murphy's voice went up three octaves.  
"Jesus Christ, Cal, I don't give a damn about the money! I'm not pimping out my youngest - "  
"Uncle! It's not - " Cal took a minute to recover his composure. Bos and Miljan had both looked up at him in interest. Cal sighed and tried to speak quietly. "It's not that. It's just - " Cal cast around for the phrasing he wanted. "It's just good math, Uncle." he paused, "I don't want to die. You don't want to lose me. This way, everyone wins."

On the other end of the phone, Red Murphy was standing over his kitchen sink, wishing desperately that he had any other answers.  
"Cal, I don't - I can't do that, Cal. I can't just say - "  
"I'll be fine, uncle! Please. Please just believe me."  
"Cal, I cannot, in good conscience - "  
"Look, don't come look for me, OK?!" Cal snapped. "Because even if you do, I'm not going home. I'm. Staying. Here. Got it? Even if you come with the cops and the government and everybody from the farm, I'm not going home!! I'm. Staying. Here!"

Red Murphy was momentarily stunned into silence. He hadn't heard Cal talk like this in years. Slowly, he answered.  
"Alright, Cal."  
Cal exhaled.  
"Alright. Good. Fine. I'm - fine. So I guess -" he had to take a breath to keep the hysteria at bay, "I guess I'll see you, um, in a couple of weeks. After I'm - after I can."  
"OK." Red answered him. "OK."  
"So tell everybody I said hi, and I'm fine."  
"I will."  
"I'll call again, later, if I can."  
"OK."  
Cal hesitated then; for what, he didn't know.  
"OK. Well, bye, Uncle."  
"Bye, Cal."

Cal took the receiver away from his face and wiped his cheeks hastily with his shirtsleeve. Then he turned and held the phone out to whoever wanted it next. Bos stepped forward, took the receiver, and gently hung it up.

Cal stood in place, trembling from the emotion of his conversation, and numb with the realization of what he'd done. Bos put both hands on Calvin's shoulders, making him stand straight in front of the larger man. Bos reached out and lifted his chin. There was a collection of emotions in his face: sympathy, happiness, worry, pride, anger, victory.

"Very good, Cal. You are smart, after all."  
Cal shut his eyes, then opened them and looked at the floor.  
"I know. I know."

~:~

Later that afternoon, Cal sat in the empty bathroom, shivering.  
No one was coming for him.  
He had told them not to come.

Remembering the decision brought a chill to Calvin's skin. It had been rash, thoughtless; so unlike him. He hadn't really weighed the options, hadn't asked his uncle what contingency plans were available, hadn't gathered all the information he could about who, what, where, when, and how. He had acted on emotion, rather than on logic.  
He had done something stupid.   
He had told them to leave him.

It was unlike him; it was different.   
In the past two weeks, every piece of Cal's life had become radically different. His body was different. His mind was different. His position in the world was different. His home was different. His schedule was different. Now, everything was different.

The water finished running in the tub, and Cal got in. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door. He leaned over the edge of the tub and hastily pushed his dirty clothes into a pile to the side before calling out that it was OK to enter.  
The door creaked open. It was Bos.  
"Zdravo."

Cal sank down a little lower in his bubbles and tried to read the man's face. What had he come in here for? Was Cal wanted in Bos' bed already? He couldn't have an hour to bathe alone? Cal's eyes flicked across the larger man's face; Bos stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. There was desire in his gaze, Cal decided; there was no mistaking that. Cal shifted in the tub so that his knees were up against his chest.  
"Hi."  
"Are you enjoying your bath?"  
Cal glanced away and nodded.  
"Yes."  
"In my language."  
"Da."

Bos grunted, then took up a seat on the white chair that rested against the wall opposite the tub.  
"I am sorry, but your private time will have to be quick." Cal's gaze snapped up involuntarily. So it was time, then.

But Bos wasn't looking at Cal; he had been focused on something far away, outside of the window. Cal lifted his head and watched him for a minute. Eventually, Bos looked back and gave an apologetic half-smile.   
"There is someone here who would like to meet you."

~

"So this is Tiger, hm?"  
Miljan stood straighter and nodded.  
"Da, Deda."

The old man straightened his cane and leaned forward to look over the carrier. Even in his old age, he had a magnificence to him; his back and hands were strong, and his hair, thinned, was slicked back from his stern face. On his shoulders, a dark wool suit jacket rested over a crisp white shirt. On his left hand, he wore a heavy gold ring, and when he moved, the slightest glimpse of an elegantly large wristwatch was visible.

Now, he stood in front of Tiger, his chin lifted, looking the young carrier over.  
"Koliko imaš godina?"  
Tiger glanced to his left at Miljan, who prompted him.  
"Ja imam..."  
"Ja imam 17 godina." Tiger finished quickly.

This particular revelation caused the old man to give a quick, but meaningful look to Miljan.  
"Ah. Da li govoris srpski?"  
"Um," Tiger hesitated. "A little. Miljan taught me."  
"Ah." The old man touched Tiger's chin with his hand and lifted it slightly. "Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. He is very brown, Miljan."  
Tiger's eyes narrowed, and Miljan gave Tiger a placative pat on the shoulder.   
"Yes, Deda."

Their grandfather leaned forward even more, tilting precariously over his cane, and squinted his eyes at Tiger's face.  
"He has beautiful features. That's good. It means he will always be handsome, even in his old age." His eyes wandered farther down the carriers body, and a disapproving noise escaped his lips. "Assuming he doesn't starve to death in his youth. Are you feeding him, Miljan?"  
Miljan sighed a little.  
"Yes, Deda."  
"More than once a day?"  
Miljan ground his jaw.   
"Yes, Deda."  
"He isn't pregnant, is he?"  
"No, Deda."  
"I wouldn't think so, not with the size that he is. Perhaps I could get some great-grandchildren if you fed him better."

Miljan nodded. There was no point in arguing, and certainly no point in admitting to Tiger's contraceptive shots.  
"Sorry, Deda."  
"Look - " The old man reached out and pinched the side of an alarmed Tiger's hip. Tiger yelped. "A carrier cannot give birth like this! And certainly cannot make milk."

The tips of Tiger's ears were turning red, and Miljan prayed silently for this conversation to end as soon as possible. His grandfather turned to face him.

"You can take better care of him than this, Miljan. You are too well-off to have such a skinny wife."  
Tiger's face was flushed now. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.  
"'m not skinny." he muttered. Miljan put an arm around his waist and squeezed to shush him. It was too late; the old man had already heard.  
"What did you say?"

Miljan squeezed Tiger again, rather desperately, but Tiger just crossed his arms tighter. Miljan recognized this as the trademark beginning of a Tiger-led argument. He squeezed the carrier's side, frantically, but Tiger was going now, and about unstoppable.

"I'm not skinny." he repeated, frowning. "And it's not fair for you to say that about Miljan! He takes good care of me, and he feeds me just fine, even if we do eat potatoes a lot. But anyway, it's not his fault that I'm this size; it's just how I am. I'm just **little**."

Tiger pronounced the last word with such lifted-chin defiance that for a moment, Miljan had to fight a grin from his face. The old man tilted his head and just stared at the bold little carrier.   
Miljan's grin faded; he knew his grandfather's expressions. This was not a friendly one. This was a predatory one.   
The room grew tense.   
Miljan's heart did strange things in his chest; freezing in place, and then pounding again.   
The silence stretched on. But then, abruptly, as if shaking off the moment, the old man pivoted on his cane and smiled at Miljan, then Tiger.

"Well. He certainly is loyal." he tilted his head. "Not a bad trait to have in a wife." he regarded him with a bit more scrutiny. "It almost makes up for the fact that he is..." the old man paused, then smiled indulgently, "...little."

Miljan's heart, which had temporarily seized up when Tiger had answered back to his grandfather, resumed its normal beat. No violence seemed forthcoming. Miljan would have been struck twice in the jaw with the old man's cane for that kind of backtalk, but apparently Tiger would escape unharmed. It must be nice, Miljan thought, shaking his head, to be a carrier at some times.

 

Ami was next in line, and a broad smile spread across the old man's face as soon as he spied Ami's protuberant belly.  
"Ah! This must be Ami. Drag has sent me pictures." he said, reaching out to squeeze the carrier's hand. Ami smiled shyly as the old man looked him over, praising him. "So pretty. Such lovely skin. And such dark hair. A beautiful mother." the old man finished with a pat to Ami's tummy and a broad smile. "Now, you are well? You are both well? Drag takes good care of you?"   
Ami nodded.  
"I'm fine. We're fine."  
"Have you seen a doctor? Getting enough to eat? No sickness?"  
Ami smiled.  
"I'm fine, Granddad. I promise. Drag takes good care of me, the others look after me as well, this big house keeps me busy, and Tiger keeps me company. What more could I ask for?"

The old man seemed inordinately delighted by Ami's answer, and he laughed heartily, then kissed the brunette carrier's cheek.  
"Ah, Drag, you have chosen a very good wife. So beautiful, and so sweet." he cast a sideways glance to Tiger. "Perhaps the others will take after him."

Tiger made an indignant sound in his throat, but Miljan quieted him with a particularly vicious squeeze.  
"Yes, thank you, Deda." Drag answered.   
Ami received one last approving pat, and the old man moved on to the last carrier in line.

 

Calvin decided that perhaps, if he stood very still, he would escape most of the old man's scrutiny. Whoever the man was, (some sort of family patriarch, Cal had surmised), his presence seemed to have brought a new tension to the house. Bos had seemed anxious ever since he'd retrieved Cal from the bath. During the walk downstairs, he had alternately held Cal's hand, then dropped it, as if unable to decide which would look better as they entered the room. And Miljan and the others had deep lines of worry written all over their faces.  
Quite a scene for a supposedly happy homecoming.

The old man tip-tapped himself and his cane closer and peered at Cal.  
"Who is this one?" he asked, to no one in particular.  
Bos stepped forward.  
"This is Calvin Murphy."

Cal felt his foot tapped roughly with a cane. He jumped a little. The old man frowned at Bos.  
"I wasn't aware you had taken a wife, Bos."  
Bos hesitated for half a second.  
"He is new, Deda."  
"His hair is red."

This observation was made with a mixture of distaste and confusion. Cal touched his hair reflexively.  
"And he fidgets."  
Cal snapped his hand back to his side immediately, then glanced at Bos, worried that he would be angry. The big man just shook his head.

The old man gave Cal an assessing look.  
"But he is quieter than the other ones. That's good."  
The old man tapped his cane with unnecessary force against Cal's hip.  
"Is he pregnant?"  
Bos shook his head.  
"No, Deda."  
The old man frowned.  
"So he always looks like this?"

Cal felt a familiar humiliation come burning over his face, and he shifted his gaze to the floor so he wouldn't have to look at anybody. His hands itched to pull at the edges of his clothes, but he was afraid he'd be accused of fidgeting again. So instead, Cal just stood still, with his face turning bright red, pretending not to hear. Bos answered his grandfather, somewhat sharply.

"Yes, Deda, he does."  
The old man let his eyes flicker over Calvin.  
"Good. I like him." Cal raised an eyebrow of surprise. "But he needs new clothes."  
The old man looked over Cal one more time, then let his gaze drift down the line.  
"I like them all. Well done. It seems that at least _some_ things have not fallen apart during the time of my absence."


	5. V

"So! Miljan says you and Bos haven't done it yet."

Cal looked up from his book to see Tiger, acting head of the Welcome Committee, standing in his doorway. The young carrier had his hair tied back with a yellow bandana and was carrying a broom, mop, and bucket. Tiger regarded him expectantly. Cal set his book aside - clearly, Baldwin would have to wait. Tiger was accompanied by Ami, who had one hand resting on his swollen belly and the other tight around the handle of a laundry basket that was balanced against his hip.

Cal looked at Ami, then at Tiger.  
"Haven't done what yet?" he asked, equal parts curiosity and wariness. The obvious answer stuck in his throat and made the air in the room seem thinner. But it had only been two days - surely Bos hadn't called them in to deal with such a short delay? It was just a little time - just a little while to be prepared.

Cal shook the thought off. Bos would never have gone around to the others like that; he wouldn't have embarrassed Cal, or himself, that way. Or at least Cal hoped he wouldn't. If Tiger and Ami weren't here for that, then what -

Tiger threw his hands up in the air, almost hitting one of the steel bedposts with the broom.  
"Unpacked! Obviously."

A distasteful glance around the room rested first on Bos's abandoned boots and clothes, then on Calvin's unpacked trunks. Ami looked around, then smoothed the blankets out on a corner of the bed and sat down with his basket. He smiled charitably at Cal.

"Miljan says you've both been busy with...the adjustment. So Tiger and I are here to help."  
Tiger nodded gravely.  
"A helpful house is a happy house."  
Cal blinked at him.  
"Oh. Oh, right. OK. Well, thanks." Cal hopped down from his spot in the window seat and gestured to the bench that lined the foot of their four poster bed. "Please, sit."

Tiger looked down at the bench, almost unidentifiable under a pile of Bos's gear, a stack of abused books, a scattered population of lonely socks, several muddy shirts, a belt, and a slightly damp towel. Tiger looked up at Cal.

Cal, feeling slightly embarrassed by this point, crossed the space quickly and shoved the books to the side, knocking some of the gear off of the opposite end.   
"Here. There's a space."  
Tiger sat, but cautiously, as if the pile of socks might spring up at any moment towards him. Ami smiled and began unpacking the contents of his basket.  
"Hey. We brought you something."

Cal gave Ami his best half-smile. Since he'd been back in the main house, Tiger and Ami had been unfailingly kind to him. They had showed him everything - how to work the kitchen appliances, how to use the phone, how to operate the laundry, where Tiger stashed all his candy, where Miljan stashed all his liquor, which cousin was which, what the general schedule was, and how best to appear to be utterly busy while really doing absolutely nothing at all. Ami was a master at the last one.

Tiger, who had been watching Ami with an uncharacteristic silence and fidgeting, suddenly spoke up.  
"We hope you like it." he said, then went back to fidgeting quietly.  
Ami handed over a bundle of cloth then, carefully folded into a thick stack. Cal took it.

"Open it up." Ami encouraged.

Cal found an edge and shook it out. In the moment that the fabric billowed, he realized. It was a natori. Cal's chest felt tight; his fingers burned. He was torn between wanting to show his appreciation to Tiger and Ami and wanting to drop the ugly thing on the fucking ground. The fabric felt slick in his hands - silky, he realized. Difficult to hold on to. He tried to tighten his grip, but his fingers wouldn't respond. He closed his eyes and did not under any conditions think of his uncle, or the farmhouse, or his old friends back at the base.

After a few seconds, Cal felt enough under control to give a real response, and he pulled himself together to talk. But when he looked up, the intensity of thought in Tiger's eyes pinned him - there was love and hopefulness and something which on any other face might have read as pity and for a moment Cal couldn't place. But then it was there, bright, clear as a cloudless sky - sympathy. The simple sympathy of a shared regret. And so young...

Cal couldn't stand it - he looked away, belatedly realizing that the silence had gone on too long.  
"It'll look really good on you." Ami assured him suddenly, misinterpreting Cal's reticence.  
Calvin forced a smile and put the thing down.  
"I know it will. I bet it will. Thank you guys. So much." he looked up again, but now Tiger's eyes were off in another direction, happy and bright, no longer a window into his past.  
"It's for tonight." the young carrier said, brightly, his attention focused again on Cal.

"And there's this," Ami added, pushing a short stack of books towards Cal. He pulled one from the top. "Start with this one. It's a really good little booklet, and a really easy read."

Cal had to bite his tongue hard to keep from answering back. His face felt like fire. Your First Night With Your Husband   
stared up at him from the top of the stack.

"Mm-hmm."  
"Yeah, and this other book -" Tiger pulled a book from the bottom of the pile, upsetting the books into a shapeless heap. "'The First Month of Marriage'; that's also really good. Miljan and I read that one."  
Cal tried to look impressed. Ami patted his hand.  
"They're both written specifically for carriers, so they may have some good perspective on what you're going through right now."

Cal didn't answer, just tried to wade through his shell-shock to formulate a proper response. Ami, who was watching him closely, reached out and gently plucked Your First Night from the stack, then slid it over towards Cal.  
"You should probably read that one first."  
Cal averted his gaze to the window, his cheeks burning again.  
"I don't - "  
"You do." Ami interrupted him. "Trust me," he said, meeting Calvin's eyes. "You do."

Tiger got up from the bed and went to stand in front of Cal.  
"It's going to be OK, OK?"  
Cal nodded.  
"OK."  
Tiger exchanged looks with Ami and rubbed Cal's shoulder.  
"Honest! And Bos is really nice. I broke his nose once and he never even held it against me. Well, he did for a day. But after that - nothing!"

Cal tried to smile, but found himself feeling rather unsettled, and so just aimed for not hyperventilating instead. Ami, seeing this, shook his head.

"Cal, what's wrong? It can't just be the books." Ami leaned over with some effort to look Cal in his eyes. "Is it Bos? Did he frighten you? Are you homesick?" Cal shook his head, and Ami hesitated. "Did he hurt you?"

Cal shook his head again, and Ami exchanged a relieved glance with Tiger. Cal looked away, towards the window, wanting but unable to explain the vastness of what he felt; the fear and homesickness - those were miniscule compared to everything else. What really wrung him was the helplessness, the confusion, the amorphous feelings of dissociation, the looming prospect of his own insanity, the loss of identity, the abject terror at his own disfigurement, the distance between himself and everything he ever knew...yes, those were the real demons.

Tiger retook his place on the bed and patted Cal's shoulder. Ami lifted a hand to Cal's back, rubbing it in comforting little circles.  
"Maybe it would help if you just told us a little part of it?" Tiger suggested, gently. Cal stared at the floor, then at his hands, then sideways at Ami's swollen stomach.

"I don't want to be pregnant." Cal lifted his eyes, glanced sidelong at Tiger, then Ami; "I can't - I can't have a _kid_. I can't have a baby - for a stranger! I'm not done, you know? I'm not done. I'm not ready. I'm really not ready. I don't want to - I can't be a mom! But Bos wants it now, now, everything is always now, and I just need time. I just need a little bit of time. I feel like everything is rushing at me, and I can't breathe. I'm underwater, and I just need - " he paused to try to catch his breath. He sucked in one shuddering sip of air, then another.   
He closed his eyes.

"I don't think Bos will let me wait. Everything is right away with him, here, now. I thought I could handle it. I did, but everything is new, and I can't - I can't even work the toaster yet, and I don't know him and you guys are nice and all, but I don't know you, and I just need some time to calm down and understand it all. And If I have a kid right now, I don't think - I don't think I can handle it. I can't. I'll go crazy." Cal's voice was too weak for him to talk by now and so he took one more breath and finished. "I just need more time."

Spent, Cal tucked his trembling hands together under the bunches of green - no, teal, Ami had corrected - natori in his lap and squeezed them together, trying to still them, hoping they could perhaps comfort each other.  
Ami just stroked his back and didn't answer.   
Tiger, looking stricken, glanced at Ami, then away, then - after a suitable silence - back to Calvin. His expression strengthened into something more firm.  
"Cal? I could maybe sort of help."

~:~

By evening, they had unpacked and put away most of Calvin's things. Only one duffel remained, and it was moved under Cal & Bos's large bed for storage. Ami and Tiger had gone to prepare dinner, leaving Cal behind to rest.

He had slept fitfully for an hour, then woken at the sound of voices in the hallway. The room was dark - night had fallen. Cal recognized one of the voices outside the door as Bos, who seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. He sat up and reached over to flick on the light. As he did so, a little syringe revealed itself, tucked halfway under his pillow. The label had been peeled off. Cal had exactly 17 seconds to process what it was, who had left it, and what he was supposed to do with it before the door swung open.

Panicked, Cal shoved the syringe back under the pillow it had come from. Presently, Bos appeared in the doorway, and upon seeing Cal sitting up in bed, smiled.  
"Ah, good. You are awake."  
Cal put on a yawn and stretched, trying to lay casually across the pillow.  
"Yep."  
Bos entered their room and closed the door behind him. He glanced around.  
"You've unpacked. And cleaned." there was a not insignificant amount of pleasure in his voice as he noted this. Cal nodded, trying to look insouciant.   
"Yep."

Bos smiled broadly and approached the bed, leaning down to lay a kiss on Calvin's cheek. Cal stood for it and didn't flinch, although his heart pounded and the adrenaline that rushed through his system told him to go, go, get out of here, go. Bos watched him, examining his expression for... what? Cal didn't know. He must have been satisfied, however, because he patted Cal's hip beneath the blankets and straightened up.  
"Very good."

Bos crossed the room to his own chest of drawers by the window, dropping his pants and pulling off his shirt; belatedly, Cal realized that his host had come in wearing some kind of uniform. Bos must have been on duty, then - that explained why the Russian had dressed and left before dawn, waking Cal only when he let the door slam behind him. Bos paused in the middle of the room, clad only in his boxers. Cal determinedly did not look anywhere but at his face.

"I am going to shower. Tiger and Ami say dinner will be ready shortly, OK?"  
Cal nodded.  
"OK."

Bos smiled again and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door loosely behind him. Cal waited until he heard the rush of water in the shower, then threw himself off of the pillow and turned around to feel between the linens and find the little syringe. But where could he hide it? A drawer would be too obvious, and too likely for Bos to search. In the bench? No, same problem. In the bathroom? Maybe, but it would be impossible to do now without compromising himself. In his duffel under the bed? No, with only one bag under there, it would be too exposed. In the curtains, he suddenly realized. The top of the window dressing made a little shelf of cloth. Surely enough space for a small syringe to be hidden. Plan decided, Cal turned to get off of the bed and ran smack into Bos.

The fright made him yelp and jump backwards onto the bed. He glanced, angrily towards the bathroom; the water was still running there. Bos hadn't closed the door all the way when he'd gone in, Cal suddenly realized. He had meant to return; he'd suspected something.  
Bos watched him impassively, his eyes dark and guarded.  
Cal inched backwards on the bed, wondering if perhaps he should just do it - stab himself quickly and hope for the best. Bos would be angry, but it wasn't as if it could be undone. Cal gauged the distance between them - not enough. He would be stopped.  
Bos shifted and looked expectantly at Cal, both hands on the ends of the towel around his neck.

"What are you doing?" he asked as if he already knew the answer.   
Cal didn't answer, just stared in horrified silence at the trouble he knew was looming before him. Bos changed his stance and tried again.  
"What's in your hand?"  
Cal snapped out of his stupor long enough to offer,  
"I was - just - I found a pain jab, in the bed. I guess leftover."  
Bos shook his head.  
"We used all of your jabs. The rest were put away."  
Cal glanced at the syringe in his hand.  
"I still had some pain. I got one from Ami."

Bos shook his head again; his expression was beginning to grow angry. Almost naked, Cal realized, the man was practically more intimidating than clothed. Every muscle was apparent.  
"Ami never took shots. He changed in a hospital." Bos stepped closer and closer to the bed until he was towering above Calvin. His face was brightly lit on one side by the lamp; on the other, it fell into darkness.   
"You are lying to me." he said, simply.

Cal felt his stomach drop.  
"No, no, I just - "  
"Give it to me."  
Cal just stared at him dumbly for a second. Bos's eyes narrowed.  
"Give it to me. Now."  
Cal handed it over hastily, dropping it carefully into Bos's outstretched hand. Bos examined it.  
"This is not Ami's."  
Cal, feeling boxed in, decided any attempt was better than none.  
"Maybe it's new. Maybe he just had it lying around from something. Or maybe it was Drag's."

Bos gave him a look that was halfway between incredulity and annoyance.  
"Who gave you this, Calvin?"  
Cal's breath quickened.  
"I don't know."  
The violence of the backhand caught Calvin off-guard; it took him a moment to recover from the loss of breath. Bos stood calmly in front of him.  
"You don't know." he repeated.  
"I don't know!" Cal answered, desperately. Bos's reaction was equally as strong as the one before it.

As Cal recovered, Bos crossed the room to where his fallen clothes lay and retrieved his belt, which he now wrapped around his hand. Cal scooted backwards on the bed, almost to the other side. The belt swung from Bos's hand as he approached.

"So. Is it a pain jab, Cal? Or is it something else?"  
Cal just stayed silent.  
"Hmm?" Bos pressed. "Is it something else? A contraceptive shot, maybe?"  
Cal still didn't answer.  
"Now, I wonder - who could have given you that?"

Bos mused over the question, tilting his head as if this were all very odd, even as he re-wrapped the belt around his hand so that the buckle end dangled free.  
Cal watched the belt, and watched Bos, and was silent. Bos smiled an uneven, narrow smile.

"You don't need to answer. I applaud your misplaced loyalty."   
Cal stretched one foot down on the other side of the bed. The door was not far. Bos caught this.  
"If you leave this room, you'll only make me angry."

Cal froze, trembling, and glanced towards the door. The glance was all the time Bos needed before he was around the bed, one hand on Cal's shirt collar, dragging him onto the mattress. Cal fought, almost uncontrollably, and Bos waited a moment to let him wear himself down a little. Once Cal had calmed, Bos leaned down to speak directly into his ear.

"I am your husband." he said, deliberately, each syllable clearly pronounced. "Your loyalty lies with me."

Blessedly, Bos's grip loosened then and Cal was allowed to move up, away. He did, retreating to the opposite side of the room, blinking to get his bearings as the quick return to standing made his head spin.

Bos got to his feet, too, and calmly unwrapped the belt from his hand and cast it away.

Cal felt something damp on his cheeks and scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. He was not crying - he would not allow it. Crying was weak, and fruitless, and silly. Cal was not silly. Cal was smart. Getting caught had been silly, though. This could have been so easily avoided. He just hadn't been paying attention, he hadn't listened, he hadn't checked behind himself. Cal crossed his arms over his chest. Never again.

Bos picked up his towel from the ground, uncapped the syringe, and depressed the plunger, spilling the feeble contents into the cloth.  
"Do not," he said, squeezing the empty syringe tightly between two fingers, "Try this again."

~

The door to the dining room slammed open, and Tiger and Miljan both looked up from where they were necking in a chair to see who it was. Bos, practically shimmering with rage, crossed the floor towards them. Tiger paled as much as his dark skin would allow, but didn't move.

When he was across the table from them, Bos reached out and struck Tiger once, hard, across his face.

"EH!" Miljan leapt to his feet, spilling Tiger from his lap and stepping between the two. His muscles tensed and fists closed for a fight. He narrowed his eyes at Bos. "What the hell was that?"

Bos glared around him at Tiger, then turned his anger fully on Miljan.

"That," he said, his lips curled up into a sneer, "Was this."   
He slapped the syringe down on the table between them. Behind Miljan, Tiger flinched with the sound.   
"Your little carrier is giving mine drugs!" Bos leaned over so that he was talking directly to Tiger again. "His drugs! To keep from being pregnant."

Tiger had curled his legs up to his chest in the chair, and now had one hand to his mouth, chewing nervously on the tip. He wouldn't meet Bos' eyes, preferring to stare at the floor instead. Miljan faltered for a moment, then his expression tightened again. He turned backwards to Tiger.

"Is that true?"

Tiger looked up, wide-eyed at Miljan, then glanced at Bos. They locked eyes. Bos's showed anger; Tiger's blazed defiance.  
"He just needs more time."  
Bos growled and lunged forward to hit Tiger again, but Miljan was there, and he pushed Bos back first.

" **Don't** touch him." Tiger and Bos both paused, surprised at the violence of Miljan's reaction. Miljan himself seemed a little stunned, and the party was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.   
"You don't need to hit him, prijatelj. He's only a very young carrier. He didn't know what he was doing."  
Bos's chest heaved with anger. He turned to Miljan, came forward so that their faces were inches apart.  
"You do it, then."   
Miljan didn't respond. Bos shoved one finger into his shoulder, throwing him off-balance a little.   
"You discipline him. He runs amok through this entire house. Like a little princess. You teach him where his boundaries are." Bos leaned away from Miljan to look darkly at Tiger.   
"Or I will."

Miljan watched Bos' retreat from the room. When the man was gone, he still did not turn around. Tiger, still hidden behind his knees in the chair, began to unfold himself, cautiously. He reached out to touch Miljan's hand. Miljan cast it back.

"Go upstairs, Tiger."  
"But - "  
"GO UPSTAIRS, TIGER!" Miljan roared, startling him.  
"I'm sorry! I just - "  
Miljan spun around. His face was tight, eyes blazing.

"Do you know that what goes on between a man and his wife is sacred in this house? Do you understand that there is a boundary that distinguishes other people's lives from our own? Do you know that you have violated that? That you have intruded and interfered in the choices made in other people's lives? And do you understand that it is in the worst way that you have done this - in a way that goes fundamentally against our purpose of life? Hmm? Do you know that? And do you know that, in doing this, you have betrayed Bos, Calvin, and myself? Do you understand that, Tiger?"

Tiger just trembled, too afraid to answer. Miljan leaned forward.  
"Do you understand that now, although I love you, I am _forced_ to punish you?"

Tiger took in a little startled breath, but was silent. Miljan had never hit him, never. Not since the kidnapping. Tiger didn't know how to respond to this. Miljan's frown intensified.  
"Answer me!"  
"I - I'm sorry."  
Miljan slammed both hands down on the arms of the chairs and shook it.  
"YES or NO, do you understand??"  
"Yes!"   
"And do you understand that if I so much as look at you for one minute more, I will be moved to a violence beyond your comprehension?"  
A shiver ran through Tiger.  
"Ye - yes."  
Miljan turned away from him.  
"Then go the fuck upstairs."

~

In his room, Tiger couldn't stop crying. He didn't even bother to turn on a light, or to undress. He just let himself in, collapsed onto the bed, and sobbed. After ten or fifteen minutes, he calmed himself a little. He wasn't even sure why he was crying? Fear of punishment had never made him cry before; despite his sweet nature, Tiger had been made tough, and a beating was not something he was unfamiliar with.

But those had been school beatings, the tenor and quality of which he knew and had nothing to fear from. This was Miljan. Miljan of the secret missions and dark clothes and unfamiliar technology. Miljan of the strange smells and late night conversations and the blood on his hands from the death of his own brother. Miljan, who represented an entirely new prospect.

Tiger rolled onto his side on the bed.  
But that wasn't it, either. Miljan might be all of those things - dark, dangerous, mysterious, and a trained killer, but he was still just Miljan. He still loved Tiger just the same, and he would never, ever hurt Tiger beyond what was absolutely necessary. Tiger felt sure of that.

So what was he crying for?

On cue, the door swung open, and Miljan appeared as a shadow in the light. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and his shoulders drooped. Tiger sucked in a breath. There was his answer.

Miljan closed the door behind him. In a moment, Tiger's eyes adjusted and Miljan's face became visible. He looked...tired. Worn down.   
"I'm sorry." Tiger blurted, immediately. "I'm so sorry." Tears threatened at his eyes again, made his nose sting. "I didn't mean to lie to you. Or to hurt you."  
Miljan stayed where he was, peering into the darkness at his carrier wife.  
"You did."  
"I know."  
"You deceived me."  
"I know." Tiger nodded vigorously. "I'm sorry."  
"I trusted you, very much. I left those syringes unlocked because I trusted you. We use them because I trust you."  
"And you still can! I didn't - I just didn't think. I'm sorry."

Miljan scrubbed his hands over his face.  
"You shouldn't have given it to Calvin." he sighed. "Bos is very angry."  
Tiger was quiet for a minute, then he piped up.  
"Does he - does he hate me?"  
The edge of Miljan's mouth flickered, just slightly.  
"Today he does. Tomorrow, he will. Next week, things will be fine."  
Tiger nodded and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.  
"I'm very sorry."  
"I know you are, mladunce. I'm sorry, too."  
Tiger's stomach dropped. Miljan was still going to beat him.

Across the room, Miljan stirred and came forward. He had something in his hands.  
Closer, Tiger recognized it, though it surprised him. Miljan stopped by the foot of the bed, stood still.  
"You've been paddled before, I assume." he waited, expectant, for an answer. Tiger's voice was a whisper.  
"Yes."  
"At school?"  
"Yes."  
"This will be like that, then. You know what to do."

Tiger hesitated. Miljan's voice dropped into a warning.

"Tiger...."

The carrier let himself down from the bed. In the darkness, he felt with his feet for the rug, stepped onto it and turned around, his body stretching over the bed, his feet splayed. Miljan moved behind him.   
"Undress."

Tiger did, quickly, not turning to look at his husband. Miljan stared at him. The moonlight coming in through the window highlighted Tiger's body - the straight planes of his back, the curve of his hips and neck. Miljan was startled by his own arousal. He tempted himself with the idea of simply fucking his carrier instead, but knew he'd better not. Besides, he was a soldier, and most skillfully trained. There was a situation on his hands, and he needed to handle it now. Not today, not tomorrow - now. The thought was sobering.

The first stroke landed hard. Tiger yelped and scooted forward. Miljan stopped.  
"I don't want to have to restrain you."  
Tiger took in a shuddering breath that Miljan, in other circumstances, would have been glad to hear.  
"How - how many?"  
"Twelve." Miljan answered quickly.  
"First one counts?" Tiger asked, just as quickly.  
In the dark, Miljan allowed himself a short quirk of the lips. Tiger, ever wriggling.  
"Yes."  
"OK."

The second stroke was a little lighter - Miljan was testing, Tiger realized, trying to gauge himself. Tiger didn't yelp, just bit down hard on his lip and keened under his breath. He also didn't move, and for that, Miljan was proud. Third came. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh, and Tiger was trembling. Eighth, and his arms shook with the strain of remaining still. Miljan knew he should be silent and cruel. Couldn't do it - he reached out and stroked Tiger's hip.

"Just three more, mladunce."

The ninth was the worst, and Tiger really cried out that time, and pulled the covers sideways on the bed in his effort to be still. At the tenth, he cried out and didn't stop crying. Miljan wanted to make the eleventh lighter, but knew that doing so would give the game away. The punishment had to be firm, all the way through. The last blow landed, and Tiger's voice rose in pitch, but he still didn't move.

Tiger was shivering utterly now, bent over the bed, and Miljan laid the paddle down and stretched over top of him.  
"Mladunce."

Tiger hiccuped and tried to end his sobbing. Miljan touched his back, guided him gently onto the bed and under the covers. When Miljan tried to pull away, though, Tiger caught him by the shirt, pulling him close, urgently.  
"I'm sorry, Miljan. I'm sorry."  
Miljan patted his back again.  
"I know. I know."  
"I will never betray you again. I promise."  
Miljan squeezed his eyes shut.  
"I know."  
Tiger's voice hitched.  
"Will you - stay with me?"  
Miljan agreed without hesitation.  
"I will."

Toeing off his shoes, he climbed fully-clothed into the bed with Tiger. After lying in the darkness for a few minutes, he felt pressed to ask.  
"Are you OK, mladunce?"  
A pause.  
"Yes."  
"Volim te."  
Tiger sniffled.  
"Volim te."

There was silence.

"Tiger?"  
"Yes?"  
"What you did - was very kind. Even if it was wrong, and foolish, and rude and untrustworthy. It was kind. And for that, I am very proud of you."  
Tiger tentatively squeezed an arm around Miljan's waist. His voice was quiet.   
"You forgot to mention it was also brave."  
Miljan let himself smile a little into the darkness.  
"Yes, mladunce. It was also very brave."


	6. VI

"Miljan."

Creeping through the entrance hall in the middle of the night, clad entirely in black in preparation for his next mission, Miljan was surprised to hear his name. He froze, then took two steps backward, placing him just in front of the door to the office.

Inside, his grandfather was sitting, perched regally in the largest wingback chair. The old man wore his heavy, dark velvet robe, and a cup of tea perched cleanly on his lap. Miljan waited respectfully by the door until the old man lifted his hand to indicate permission to enter.

"Deda."  
His grandfather sipped his tea and regarded Miljan critically.  
"You are going somewhere?"  
"Da, Deda. Work. I have a mission."  
His grandfather seemed to muse over this.  
"Just you? Not the others?"  
Miljan shook his head.  
"Just me."

The old man set his teacup down on an end table and turned away to face the window. Steam billowed up from the cup, rose in gusts and wispy wavers.  
"Bring coffee when you return."  
Miljan dipped his head in acknowledgment.  
"I will, Deda."

The old man steepled his fingers.  
"Yesterday evening. I heard crying." he looked directly at Miljan, his eyes making it clear that his statement had, in fact, been an inquiry. Miljan shifted his jaw, then jutted his chin out. Show no fear or hesitation.  
"Tiger. There was... a disagreement. Between Bos and the carriers. It's been settled."

His grandfather pressed his lips together and lifted his cup again.  
"Ah." he took a slow sip of the tea, then set the cup down, turning it slowly with one finger. The very picture of indifference. "Your carrier - he was not punished harshly, was he?"

Miljan paused before answering, a smile almost slipping through. Was that concern the old man was showing? Tiger had worked his charming magic on his grandfather, it seemed.  
"No, Deda. Tiger is fine."  
The old man nodded slowly, raising the tea to his lips again.   
"Just as well."

Miljan nodded and they lapsed into silence. Patiently, the younger man waited for his dismissal. Eventually, the old man lifted his hand, tilted it. Miljan was free to go. Eager to leave for his mission, he turned to the door. Almost there, the old man spoke again.

"Miljan." At his name, he turned back. His grandfather was standing now, the teacup balanced delicately in those rough, sinewy hands. "Your brother's death."

Miljan's heart skipped a beat, but he knew better than to ever show fear before his grandfather. The old man met his eyes.  
"It must be settled."  
Miljan dropped his gaze immediately.  
"Da, Deda. Ya znayu."  
The old man flicked his eyes over his grandson, then turned away.  
"I will see you when you return."

Sweat dampened Miljan's palms, but he showed no fear. He turned to go; at the door, he suddenly became aware of a suspicious lightness at his waist. He checked himself, then turned back towards the old man. Miljan raised his eyes to the ceiling, bolstered himself, and swallowed back the embarrassment of having lost at a game he hadn't even realized they were playing. He stepped farther into the room, then held out one hand.

"Deda. Please. I have a mission."

His grandfather crossed the room leisurely, his limp seeming no more than a passing annoyance. When he stood in front of Miljan, he retrieved the missing firearm from within his robes and laid it in his grandson's hand. Miljan closed his fingers around it, but his grandfather did not immediately release his grasp.

"If you didn't want me to have it, Miljan," he said, slowly, "Then you should have kept a closer watch."

The lightness of the tone in which his grandfather said this disguised the harshness of the rebuke. Even a child was expected to keep watch over their own weapons. Miljan was a man, and the head of a house. In other circumstances, he was sure his grandfather would have whipped him for such negligence.

"Da, Deda." he said, quietly. "Ya znayu."

~

Cal woke to Bos's hands slipping under his shirt, tickling the skin as they slid across, marking a path of touch across his chest before lingering on his nipples. Cal considered feigning sleep at first, but then Bos pinched his left nipple, just enough to startle, and Cal's gasp gave him away. He opened his eyes.

"I know when you are awake, Cadet Murphy."  
Cal blinked up at Bos, then looked away and tried to sit up.  
"What time is it?"  
"Nine." Bos leaned back, giving Calvin room to move, and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Are you late for an appointment?"  
Cal shrugged.   
"I was just asking." he moved as if to get out of bed, but Bos stopped him with one meaty arm, pulling him back.  
"Where are we rushing off to, then?"  
The arm tightened just enough to be a warning. Cal shook his head and settled back into the bed.  
"Nowhere."  
"Ah." Bos smiled. "Good."

Threading one hand through Cal's hair, he pulled the carrier in for a kiss. Up close, Cal caught a mixture of scents from him - sweat, and mint, and a curiously heavy scent of smoke. He pulled back a little. Bos was wearing a black tshirt and gray mid-length briefs. Goosebumps rose on his skin where it was exposed to the cool air of the room.

"You've been out."  
Bos nodded.  
"Da. Working."  
"You let me sleep?"  
"You seemed tired." Bos looked over his carrier, caution in his expression. "The change may still be affecting you."

Cal shook his head. His mouth felt cottony - he wanted to brush his teeth. He settled for reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand instead.

"I'm fine. The change is over."  
"I know."

Cal glanced over his shoulder at Bos, having caught some thread of emotion in his voice - a waft of an implication. Bos met his gaze evenly, and Cal looked away, swallowing a mouthful of water. By the time he turned back, Bos had gotten under the covers and now lay on his side, facing Calvin. He reached out one hand to stroke Cal's bare hip.

"You're wearing nothing."  
Bos's voice had dropped, changed into something rougher. Cal swallowed.  
"You won't let me."  
Bos laughed, low.  
"I know. I'm smart."

The big man pulled Cal in for another kiss then, this one more demanding than the first, and his hand slipped around to knead at Cal's ass. Cal felt his body begin to react, to the touch and to Bos's proximity. He shifted his legs uncomfortably, trying to hide it.

Bos broke away when Cal fidgeted, then took the opportunity to shift closer to his mate. Cal froze and for a moment, fear and dread welled in him. But he capped those feelings - locked them up and put them away, reminding himself again that they had no place in his bed, with his husband.

Bos kissed him again, and when they parted for breath, he captured one of Cal's hands in his own and gently guided it down, between them, to press firmly against his thick, hard cock. Cal felt something spike in his belly - he was not sure what, as it seemed that fear and anticipation had recently become inextricable in his mind. Bos groaned obscenely and squeezed Cal's wrist, urging him to stroke. Cal could feel the heat of the Russian's fat dick straining against the fabric of his briefs, knew what was desired of him, what Bos expected, but still could somehow not bring himself to move, to take the next step and make the next motion.

Panic began to rise, and Cal made an involuntary sound, but Bos did not release him. If anything, the Russian pressed closer.

"See what you do to me?" he demanded. Cal sucked in a breath, and Bos thrust his hips forward, grinding against Cal's captive hand. "Do you see how hard I am?" Bos reached out again to palm Cal's hip, his thigh, his ass. "I am like this all the time because of you."

Cal didn't answer, transfixed by Bos's words, by the stroke of his hands, by the hotness of his cock.  
"I didn't - I, um - "

Bos shook his head and kissed Cal, this time on the neck, scraping the skin ever so lightly with his teeth and sending jolts of heat between the carrier's thighs. Cal inhaled sharply. This was the good part, he knew; this was what it could be like. Just relax, the book had told him, it's just like falling. And suddenly Cal felt like he was falling - like he was twisting in midair, flailing with no place to land.

"Wait." he mumbled.  
Bos grunted and kept going, dipping his head lower to graze teeth and tongue across the hollow of Calvin's collarbone while his hand slid around to slip into the crux of Cal's damp heat . Cal shifted uncomfortably and tried to pull back, but Bos's hand on his ass tightened to keep him in place. Adrenaline surged in Cal's veins, but he reined in his reaction, palmed Bos's cock through his briefs and kissed the side of his jaw.

"Hey, slower, OK?"  
Bos grunted and nudged one leg between Cal's, separating his thighs firmly, the muscles of Bos's leg constraining his own. Cal felt a knotted tangle of reactions burst into appearance inside of him, inextricable and incomprehensible. Bos wrapped his hand around Cal's cock and gave it a few strokes, then brushed past it to slip one finger into the carrier's wet folds. Panic broke loose of the knot in Cal's stomach and ran ahead of the pack.

"Bos!"  
Bos growled.  
"Bos, please!"  
Bos muttered something in Serbian under his breath and shoved back so that he was balanced halfway above Cal, his hands on the bedsheets.  
"No, Calvin, you 'please'!" Bos snapped, then exhaled. He closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to regain some control, and Cal wisely kept silent. Bos opened his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."  
Cal lowered his eyes.  
"I'm OK."

Bos took in a deep breath and settled into a more comfortable position, supported on one arm.  
"Let's talk about this. Now."  
Cal's pulse quickened.  
"OK."

Bos dipped his head and ran a hand over his short hair, then lifted it again to look Cal in the eyes.  
"We all have duties, Calvin." Cal didn't answer, just waited. Bos went on. "My duty is to protect my home. To protect you. To care for you. To keep you safe, and to make you happy, insomuch as I can." Bos looked down at Calvin, who swallowed reflexively. "You have duties, too."  
Cal's face began to heat. Bos was speaking to him as if he were a child.  
"I know that." he answered back, annoyed, then immediately wished he hadn't. Bos looked surprised for a moment, then it passed.  
"Fine. Then you tell me what your duties are."  
Cal looked away.  
"I don't know." he mumbled.  
"You know."  
"I don't - "  
"You are a grown man, Cal, not a child. You know damn well what your duties are." Bos's voice raised to border on shouting. Cal shrank back a little. Bos narrowed his eyes. "But I want to hear them from you. You are clever. Articulate. So tell me - explain to me what I want from you and why we are having this conversation."

Cal hesitated, and Bos slipped one hand up to the back of the carrier's neck, where it tightened in encouragement.  
"You want me to fuck you." Cal blurted. Bos tilted his head.  
"Very good. Why?"  
"Because - " Cal hesitated, still having trouble forcing the words from his mouth. "Because you take care of me."  
Bos shook his head.  
"No. That is not it."  
"Because I'm a carrier and it's my place?"  
Bos's eyes narrowed and he looked annoyed.  
"No."  
"Because it's my duty!" Cal tried. Bos shrugged.  
"Why is it your duty?"  
Cal understood, but still couldn't bring himself to just say it. Bos shook him a little by the neck.  
"Because you're my husband." he managed, at last.

Bos nodded his satisfaction.  
"Yes. And you want to be a good little wife, don't you?"  
Cal hesitated and Bos shook him again. "Don't you?"  
"Yes."  
"Good. And it is a wife's duty to spread his legs for his husband, isn't it?"  
Cal swallowed.  
"Yes."  
"So turn on your back, little wife, and pay your husband his due."

Cal moved quickly, using his hands to support himself, hoping to conceal the fact that he was shaking. Bos waited patiently for Cal to settle himself, idly stroking his own half-hard cock with one hand.

Just do everything they say, Cal reminded himself, hearing his uncle's voice in his head. Even the stuff you don't like.  
When Cal was lying on his back, he looked expectantly over at Bos, who hesitated.

"We can do differently. I can lie down - "  
"No." Cal shook his head, sure of this if nothing else. "No, I want you on top. Please."

Bos shrugged and moved forward to kneel between his wife's legs, twisting the blankets beneath them. Cal reached with one hand to straighten them.

"Leave it."  
Cal paused.  
"I'm cold."  
Bos glanced over his shoulder to the fireplace, which had burned low.  
"Not for long."

Bos reached for the edge of Calvin's shirt, pushing it upwards to his stomach, then drawing his hands down to rest on either side of the carrier's thighs. Cal sucked in a breath at the sudden exposure, and his face flushed. Bos paused for a moment, then leaned down reverently and pressed a kiss to Calvin's recently-made-bare skin.

"Tiger and Ami did this." he guessed.  
Cal nodded, startling at the touch of the Russian's lips to his naked skin.  
"They said - you would like me better bare."  
Bos's guttural groan appeared to support their hypothesis. His cock surged between them, pressing hotly against Calvin's thigh.  
"I do, Cadet Murphy. And you have no idea how much."  
Bos's eyes were half-lidded, and his hands massaged Calvin's hips in what was meant to be a soothing manner. Cal bolstered himself enough to manage a half a grin.  
"I'll send them your thanks."

Bos purred and leant back to examine his prize further.   
"You are beautiful, little cadet." he told him, his voice soft, persuasive. "I want you so badly."  
Cal's intake of breath made his stomach contract and sent little ripples across his lower body, spurring Bos to greater arousal than he knew was possible.

Calvin was perfect in every way, Bos decided. The nakedness of his pubis was nothing in the grand vision. Calvin was alluring - his intelligence, his innocence, the spread of his hips and the brightness of his eyes, the weight of him - sturdy, not breakable or easily lost, the dip of his navel and the nervous way his hands kept touching-then-not-touching Bos's skin. Bos sent up a silent, brief prayer of thanks. Calvin was absolutely perfect, and Bos believed he had waited a very long time for this.

"Come, little carrier. Open for me." he stroked the insides of Calvin's thighs, pushing them apart just a fraction further. "Show me all of you. Let me see you."

Cal was shivering now, and Bos took the moment to wet two fingers in his mouth and traced them along the outline of Calvin's entrance, evoking a startled cry from the carrier. Cal tensed his hips, then froze, then relaxed as much as he was able. Bos smiled and traced his fingers along the outline, then in, just a little, to trace the inner curves, then back out again to scrape the underside of Calvin's cock with a thumbnail.

"Let me please you." Bos murmured. The carrier arched his back and made a sound that was not entirely a protest. "Let me inside of you."

Speaking those words, Bos's cock, already flush and heavy with want for the carrier, seemed to swell even further, and Bos shifted to accommodate his growing girth. Calvin's eyes followed him, flicking down to Bos's groin, then back, away, then closing.

"Open your eyes, Calvin." Bos growled, suddenly feeling injured, then possessive. Cal opened his eyes and Bos let a little of his emotions show through. No one else, he thought, trying to put these thoughts into his face. "See me, Calvin. See what I have for you. You think of no one else but me."

Bos kept Calvin like that for a while, his legs splayed and lifted around Bos's hips, his breath coming in short pants and his eyes flicking between his husband and his own body. Calvin's cock was raised by now, heavy, and Bos's own hand was slick with the carrier's arousal.

"You're wet for me." Bos's words were jumbled now, running together between his own vocalizations of pleasure. "So wet, da, yes."

Cal panted, his hands tangled in the bedsheets and the larger man moved them then, lifting Cal's legs off of him so that he could remove his own shirt and briefs. Cal watched, mesmerized and fearful. Like a child looking for the first time into the abyss, over the transfixing edge that meant the death of the extant self. Bos's massive chest was exposed first, the great expanse of muscle and sinew that made up the bulk of his size. With it, arms and shoulders, brawny with strength and marked there and there with scars. Then his cock exposed itself, and Cal wanted to look, but couldn't look, but then had to look. It was no monster - proportional, but given the size of the man himself, it was still a monolith in Calvin's eyes. Cal met Bos's gaze. For once, the expression on that uncompromising face was open, naked, and in it Cal read lust, and worry, and possession and anger and longing and somehow, just around the edges, fear. Bos pulled away from him.

There was a pause, then the big man shook his head and leaned over Cal, reaching for the nightstand. From the top drawer, he retrieved a little bottle, an alcohol pad, and a syringe. He tossed the bottle onto the bed, and carefully uncapped the syringe. Cal watched, confusion battling with panic.

"What is that? What are you giving me?"  
Bos looked directly into his eyes, then held up the syringe. There was silence, and the Russian seemed to be considering something. Then, turning his attention back to preparing the syringe, he spoke.  
"The shot lasts three months. The protection it offers is not effective for 5 days." with the alcohol pad, he cleaned a spot on Calvin's hip. "I will try to pull out until then."

Cal stilled as understanding dawned. Bos administered the shot quickly and turned to set the empty needle aside. Cal caught his wrist.  
"Thank you." the carrier's voice was almost pleading, and he blinked damp eyes up at Bos. "I know you didn't have to do that. Thank you."

Bos's heart felt full and painful in his chest, and he understood now his brother's weakness for Tiger because here, with his own carrier before him, looking up into his eyes as if Bos were a god come to earth, it was nearly impossible not to give into any demand made.

Bos set the things aside and smothered his feelings with a kiss, and this time Cal didn't tense or pull away, only relaxed into Bos's touch. Bos ended the kiss and rested his forehead on Calvin's, knowing that he couldn't wait much longer. His cock was beginning to ache with unsatisfied desire.

"You are perfect, dušo."  
Calvin nodded and reached out to settle one hand on Bos's hip.  
"Don't hurt me, OK?"  
Bos nodded solemnly.   
"I will be gentle with you, srce moje."

That was the last thing said between them before they touched again and the need to be inside his carrier overwhelmed Bos with its vehemency. He settled himself between Calvin's thighs again, ignoring the rasp of fingers tightening on his hip and the little gasps for air, lined his cock to Calvin's weeping entrance, and pressed forward, just a little, the head of his cock barely penetrating. Bos paused there, and Calvin keened, but he seemed OK and so Bos pressed a little farther, encountering some resistance now, and when he looked down at Calvin the carrier was in deep focus. Bos kissed him, played over first one nipple, then the other, wanting to please, wanting to ease the worry and the discomfort.

But then the sensation was overwhelming, and Bos pushed in farther, heard Cal hiss and didn't really care because he was so sweet and hot and tight and damp that the only thing that seemed relevant, in the grand scheme of things, was staying inside of him. Bos tried to pull back, to begin the thrust that was coiled in his hips and begging to be released, but Cal stopped him. The carrier held him fast, where he was, with a hand on his hip.

"Wait. Please?"

Bos considered pretending not to have heard because Cal felt so good and he wanted to just keep going, to get buried deep in that swollen, wet heat, to finish inside of his mate...but Cal looked up at him and Bos glimpsed something in his expression, some measure of trust, and knew immediately that he had to obey.

"Hush. It's OK, srce. We'll wait."  
"Just - just for a minute, I just need - "  
"Hush. It's OK."

Cal nodded and tried to clear his head. The book had said it might hurt, Tiger had said it didn't, not really, and Ami had said it would probably be fine and all of them were wrong because it definitely, definitely did hurt. Cal bit his lip and exhaled slowly, shakily, his thoughts a jumbled mix of try to push through it, don't think about it, it'll stop in a minute, it's your duty, you have to, even the stuff you don't like, no one is coming for you, it's not so bad, Bos loves you, just let him finish, please God just let him finish.

He felt hot, sweaty where his skin and Bos's collided, and damp on his thighs where he had slickened himself with his arousal. But it felt good, for once, to have Bos be this close to him, be this powerful above him. And at least it was over now. Cal felt a massive rush of relief at the thought. Even if it hurt, at least it was over. It wouldn't have to hurt again. He could relax now.

Bos began to stroke his sides, trying to calm him but also urge him on, and Cal was surprised to feel the pressure inside of him easing as well.  
"Go. It's OK." he assured the larger man.  
Bos hesitated.  
"Are you sure, srce?"  
"Da," Cal said, squeezing Bos's hip, "I'm sure."

Bos settled himself closer to Calvin, supporting his weight on his forearms, and lifted one of Cal's legs higher on his hip.  
"I can't last long." he warned.  
Cal laughed out loud.  
"That's OK. Trust me, it's OK. Just...go."

Bos nodded and kissed Cal, pulling back then thrusting forward. On the second thrust, he buried his face in Cal's neck, inhaling the heady scent of his lover, the smell driving him to want to go deeper, farther into his mate. He thrust again and again, his heft moving them backwards on the bed, rumpling sheets and blankets. Bos's cries had devolved into scattered mutterings, and Cal didn't bother struggling to make sense of it.

"Calvin...da, jeb - augh, Calvin, dušo, dušo moja."

Cal just nodded and tried to focus, tried to draw out the little knot of pleasure that had been ignited once or twice by Bos's touch, by his thrust, by the words he murmured to Calvin. It hovered there, just outside of his fingertips, present but elusive, and Cal was reaching farther and farther for it, coming closer and closer when Bos grunted out, "Oh, fuck, Calvin." and pulled out of his grasp, cumming in short spurts all across Calvin's belly and cock and chest.

For a moment, Cal was bewildered, but then he remembered. Bos was kneeling now, head thrown back, eyes shut, balancing on one hand, covering his cock with the other and panting for breath.

"Ahhhh, Calvin. Ah, ljubavi." Bos sucked in great breaths for a moment longer, his skin flushed with heat, then composed himself enough to open one eye and check on Cal. "Are you alright?"  
Cal nodded, proud of himself for enduring and even almost sort of enjoying it.  
"I'm OK."  
Bos looked down, to his carrier's slick and swollen entrance.  
"Did I hurt you?"  
Cal shrugged.  
"It always hurts a little. The first time."  
Bos nodded and closed his eyes, clearly luxuriating in his own pleasure.  
"Mmm."

He settled down into a supine position beside Cal, one hand falling on the carrier's stomach and stroking him there. After a moment of silence, wherein Cal wondered whether it would be rude to get up and go bathe now, Bos spoke.

"You are perfect, you know, Cadet Murphy."  
Cal wrinkled his nose.  
"I think you can just call me Calvin."  
Bos laughed.  
"OK. You are Calvin. My love. My Calvin."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nine Months](https://archiveofourown.org/works/254387) by [RosiePaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw)




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